


I Was Going To Tell You Last Night But Your Mouth Around My Genitals Distracted Me Somewhat

by WhatLocked



Series: So Close [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Assisted Masturbation, Conversations with Mummy Holmes, M/M, Oral Sex, lying by omission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:31:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5183852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatLocked/pseuds/WhatLocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In my first ever foray into Mystrade we learn about how Mycroft broke the news of Sherlocks return to Greg. </p><p>Set during chapter 11 in ‘So Close, So Far’.</p><p>Changing POV’s</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Was Going To Tell You Last Night But Your Mouth Around My Genitals Distracted Me Somewhat

**Author's Note:**

> Due to the fact that I am suffering from that cursed condition known as writers block, while trying to end 'So Close, So Far', I have written this as a sort of 'Sorry for taking so long".  
> Hopefully it will tide you over until I can get the other story finished!

~~~~~~~~~~

Mycroft sighed as he took off his coat and hung it up. It had been a tiring day. It would have been okay if it had just been dealing with the impending conflict between Hungary and Poland, or if it was handling the incident between the Prime Ministers son and the Welsh jockey which had a strong potential to become a rather tedious political scandal. He could even handle the constant bickering amongst his staff over who it was exactly that had left the empty milk carton in the staff fridge, (it was Joseph in foreign accounts), but today he had had to deal with his little brother. Again. Which wasn’t so bad in itself. Handling the clearing of his name had been simple. That had been in place before Sherlock had apparently died. Nor had it been the subtle leaks to certain areas of the media about his brothers miraculous return. No, it had been the fact that he had actually had to go and see Sherlock. His ears had rung for a good 45 minutes after his screeching solo on the violin. Almost two years of little to no practice had somehow made him better at being horrible on the instrument. And although Sherlock had walked right into Mycroft’s plan of taking over the investigation he knew there was going to be tantrums, un-cooperation and ridiculous demands foreseeable in the near future. That, mixed with the phone call he had had to make to his parents and he had had to down several pain killers to ward of the impending migraine that he could feel starting to form in his head.

Anthea, who never question any instruction she was given, had blatantly refused making the phone call for him, which, if she had made, would have consisted of a conversation lasting no more that 2 minutes stating that their son was home, safe and sound, back in 221 B Baker Street, along with his good doctor friend.

Instead, despite his claims of having to deal with not only North Korea, but also the Republic of Congo, he had spent over an hour of listening to his parents (Mummy) sob down the phone at the relief of her baby boy being home and finally safe. In his haste to get her off of the phone he had mindlessly mentioned Doctor Watson’s hospital stay in Genoa, which had then in turn opened up an entirely new conversation on why he was there and why Sherlock had insisted on staying with him in Italy. Despite the rumours that were constantly flung around and the bond that was obviously between the two men Mycroft was certain that there was not actually anything beyond platonic friendship between them, but Mummy had been hoping for so much more ever since she started reading the doctors blog. Therefore his darling mother had taken some convincing that, no, they were no more than friends, and no, he didn’t know why they were no more than friends. Then he had been berated, like the little boy who had been caught cutting off his brothers curls (and didn’t Mycroft know what that was like), for allowing Doctor Watson to get himself into danger in the first place. Isn’t that why Sherlock had done everything? To keep him safe? (Mycroft had suffered a similar speech about sending Sherlock into danger, not quite two years ago from this very same woman , in this very same office at almost the exact same time of day.) Eventually Mycroft promised to organise a car to pick her and father up in a few days, once the doctor and his brother had become settled back into their old life, so she could visit them for herself and get all the answers she needed, straight from the horses mouth, so to speak.

But right now he was home, and the stress still wasn’t over. Now he had to tell Gregory that for the past twenty months he hadn’t been completely honest with him about John, nor about Sherlock.

Sweet, loyal, _honest_ , Gregory, who had been sharing his bed for the past fourteen months.

Slowly Mycroft made his way upstairs to their bedroom where he knew Gregory would be, most likely asleep, as it was almost 2am. As he climbed the stairs he unbuttoned his jacket, then his waist coat and then, undoing his tie, he unbuttoned the first three buttons on his shirt. When he got to the top of the stairs he was surprised to see a strip of light under the bedroom door. It wasn’t very bright which indicated bedside lamp rather than overhead light, but it was still very unusual for the DI to fall asleep with any light on. On the odd occasion that he had done so reading it was never very long before he woke himself up and turned the light out before going promptly back to sleep, so the probability was that Gregory was awake. A small sigh left Mycroft’s mouth again. He was hoping to put this conversation off until the following morning after he had had a good nights sleep, but alas, that was apparently not going to happen.

Pushing open the door Mycroft was surprised to see the bed empty. He stepped in, looking around the room. Gregory’s Jacket was thrown haphazardly over the chair in the corner, along with his tie. There were a pair of shoes kicked messily under the chair. The bed cloths were still as pristine as ever, so his detective hadn’t even been to bed yet. A cursory look across the room showed that the light was on behind the closed door. So Gregory was in the bathroom. It must have been a hellish day for him too.

Mycroft walked over to the chair, taking his jacket and waistcoat off as he moved. Neatly, he draped them over the arm of the chair next to Gregory’s and pulled his tie away from around his neck, placing it over the neatly placed articles of clothing already there, just as the door to the en suite opened.

Mycroft looked up to see his partner walk out of the bathroom, cotton pyjama pants slung low on his hips, hands rubbing a fluffy blue towel through his wet hair.

Gregory looked up at Mycroft with a smile but Mycroft could see the tiredness in the man’s body The dark circle under his eyes, the lax way his smile sat on his face, the drooped set to his shoulders, the way his arm, the one not currently pulling the towel from his head to his shoulders, hung limply by his side. And it was evident in the slight drag of his feet in the walk he used to move within reaching distance of Mycroft.

“Rough day at the office?” he asked, leaning up and placing a small kiss on the edge of Mycroft’s lip, obviously noting the tired set to his own posture and the exhausted look on his face.

“I could ask the same of you” Mycroft murmured, pulling the towel off of Gregory’s shoulders and letting it drop to the floor.

Greg looked down at the rumpled towel on the floor and back up to Mycroft with a raise of his eyebrow. Wet towels on the floor? That was most unlike Mycroft. He looked into the face of the man before him and this close he could really see the stress that he had had to deal with since leaving the house this morning. Judging by the straight set of his lips and the way his left eye was baggier, just a bit more than the right, told Greg that the stress levels had been high. The hint of whiskey on his breath said even more.

Greg brought his hands up to Mycroft’s shirt and continued releasing the buttons, standing as close to the man as his actions would allow. “My night wasn’t too bad” Greg said as he watched more and more milky skin become exposed under his fingers. “Interrogation took a bit longer than I had hoped and bloody Donovan…”

Greg finished off there. He didn’t have to elaborate. Mycroft knew how she had been since the Sherlock debacle.

“I could have her transferred to Croydon” Mycroft offered. Greg smiled as he slipped the shirt off the taller mans shoulders, making sure to drape it over the chair behind them.

“To be honest, I like watching her suffer while working under me again. It makes up for the all the shit she throws my way.” And it was true. She had become bitchier since Greg was reinstated as DI but she had also been miserable, and Greg enjoyed watching every second of it. “What about you? How was your day?”

Mycroft sighed as Greg got to work on his trousers, opening the clasp and the button before lowering the zip.

“Oh, you know how it is. Stopping wars, pulling the Prime Ministers son into line. It is all quite tedious” he sighed as Greg dropped to his knees to help him out of his shoes and socks. Mycroft continued to rattle of some of his days events as Greg removed his foot from one John Lobb followed by the other coming off of the second foot. He then proceeded to strip the feet bare of the ridiculously expensive silk socks that he preferred (dark blue to match the trousers he wore today) as the man above he lamented about Hungary and a Polish belly dancer. Greg helped him step out of the trousers that were now pooled around his ankles and then stood up so he was face to face with Mycroft again.

“And then I had a phone call with Mummy.” Greg tried to hide the smile at the last sentence that practically came out as a whine. He found it quite endearing that a man, in his forties, as powerful as Mycroft not only called his mother Mummy, but also found the prospect of interacting with her slightly terrifying.

Greg leaned up and placed his mouth on Mycroft’s, letting his tongue trace the crease between his lips. “Your mother is a lovely lady, Mycroft Holmes. I’m sure it wasn’t all that bad” he smiled as he slowly directed Mycroft back towards the bed.

“Seventy-eight minutes” Mycroft mumbled against Greg’s lips.

“Hmmm?” Greg asked as he gently sat Mycroft down on the bed.

“That is how long I had to talk to her for. I only wanted to convey a simple message, which speaking of…”

“I really don’t want to talk about you mum right now Mycroft” Greg cut in huskily as he pushed Mycroft so he was laying flat on his back. Greg then straddled his hips and laid his body over Mycroft’s. “In fact, the only things I want to hear you say right now are _Gregory, yes_ and _more_.” Each word on his list was accompanied by a roll of his hips, pushing his hardening cock against Mycroft’s hip with each thrust. A gasp left the other mans mouth and Greg took this as an indication to continue. Slowly he made his way back down Mycroft’s body, kissing and licking as he went, enjoying the little gasps and whimpers that filled the otherwise silent room as he made his journey down. As he reached Mycroft’s belly button Greg realised he had run out of bed.

“Scoot up” he ordered with a slight smack to Mycroft’s hips. This spurred him on and he shuffled back up the bed, Greg snagging the waistband of his pants on the way, tugging them down, none too gently, as Mycroft moved back. In a flash the pants had been dragged down the long white legs and thrown somewhere over Greg’s shoulder. Wasting no time Greg leant back down and started kissing the inside of Mycroft’s knee, slowly moving the kisses up the inner thigh. Already Mycroft’s thigh started to quiver as Greg’s hand gently stroked the other thigh, up and down.

As Greg's lips made their way up the creamy skin a hand came down to gently rest on his head.

“Gregory” came the panted voice from the top of the bed. “I really, before we go any further, think I should tell you of a development at wor…..”

Greg grinned as he cut off Mycroft’s sentence by pulling a firm, round testicle into his mouth and sucking gently. “ _Oh, god_ ” came the whimpered cry from above. Greg rolled the small sphere over his tongue and gave it one final suck before letting it pop from his mouth.

“It’s just that, I think you should kno…..”

Greg pulled the other teste into his mouth, and firmly grabbed the base of Mycroft’s cock, which was, by now, like a steel rod encased in the smoothest silk. As predicted Mycroft stopped talking straight away. After giving the second ball the same treatment as the first Greg released it from his mouth and looked up at Mycroft. “I told you. _My name, yes_ and _more_.” And with a slight whimper from Mycroft Greg started to slowly, but firmly, stroke the cock in his hand. The top was already leaking quite a bit of pre-come, which was another indicator of the stressful day that Mycroft had. For some reason it seemed that all the rage and frustration that he didn’t allow to be seen at work somehow transferred into pure sexual energy. The harder the day was at the office, the more responsive Mycroft was in bed. Greg couldn’t say that he minded all that much.

Using the leaking come as lubricant, Greg sped up his slide over Mycroft’s prick, occasionally adding a twist of the wrist when he reached the glans. The noises coming from the top of the bed were like music to Greg’s ears. Mycroft’s breath had picked up to something heavy and laboured. It was interspersed with the occasional groan or whimper as the body on the bed arched under his touch. Greg continued to use his mouth to kiss and lick, every now and then sucking a mark, into the thighs and the crease of his groin. Slowly Greg’s mouth travelled up over the hip and along the bottom of Mycroft’s belly as his hand worked up and down over his cock. Pulling himself further up onto his knees Greg let go of the rigid muscle in his hand, eliciting a pained whimper from Mycroft. His disappointment was short lived as Greg covered the head of Mycroft’s cock with his mouth and slowly started to suckle, the salty taste coating his tongue as he ran it around the edge. Mycroft bucked as Greg moved further down, hollowing out his cheeks as he sucked, his tongue running over the thickest vein on the underside.

The strangled cry of “ _Oh, Gregory_!” filled his ears as he nestled his nose in the nest of ginger curls at the base of Mycroft’s cock and swallowed, his throat contracting around the turgid flesh in his mouth.

Before Mycroft was too far gone Greg pulled back, slowly sucking on the head of the cock in his mouth as one hand came up to firmly grip the base while the other hand went to trace a finger, first over his taught sack, and then dipping lower to the strip of smooth skin, just beyond.

If Greg didn’t know any better he would’ve said that the whimpers being pulled out from his lover were pained, as his finger pushed back and forth over his perineum. But Greg knew better, so he continued the action as he slowly, _oh so slowly_ , sucked down Mycroft’s length again. Greg felt Mycroft’s hand on the back of his head, shortly followed by a sharp tug as Mycrofts grip curled around his hair, and pulled, a voiceless command for Greg to _hurry- the-hell-up_. And who was Greg to deny this wonderful man beneath him what he wanted?

So, without further ado, Greg placed one hand on the bed next to Mycroft’s right hip, to brace himself, while the other continued its dance below his bollox and he started to bob his head in earnest. He kept the suction tight and the movements swift, laving his tongue along the length as he went. It wasn’t long before Greg felt the minute bucking of Mycroft’s hips, a tell-tale sign that he was close so, as he sped up his movements along the man’s cock, he slid his finger down, just a bit further, and slipped it into the his entrance, in one smooth movement, until he was knuckle deep and with a manoeuvre that had been well practiced over and over again he crooked his finger a certain way, brushing up against the small bump that he knew would, essentially, seal the deal.

With a deep “ _Oh, god, Gregory, yes!_ ” and a very enthusiastic bucking of Mycroft’s hips, Greg’s mouth flooded with the warm salty taste of semen flowing over his tongue and sliding down his throat. Softly he continued to suckle the softening cock in his mouth until Mycroft hissed as the action became to oversensitive. With a filthy slurp Greg let the soft penis slip from his mouth, kissing away the last traces of come before making his way up Mycroft’s body, joining their lips and thrusting his tongue into the other mans mouth. A small, but deep groan rumbled from Mycroft’s chest as he sucked Greg’s tongue into his mouth, pulling a groan out of Greg as well. As Greg kissed and sucked and bit at Mycrofts mouth, he clumsily pushed his pyjama pants down, just enough that his own, achingly hard and extremely erect cock could spring free. With frantic movements he wrapped his hand around it and started pumping, thrusting his hips up against Mycrofts as he went, pre-come practically oozing out of the tip as his hand made quick work of travelling up and down. This wasn’t going to take long, no fancy manoeuvres were going to be needed. After only a dozen or so quick hard strokes Greg could feel the familiar tingling, burning sensation balling at the base of his cock. Four more strokes and that ball cracked open, flooding his body with a liquid heat as white ribbons of come spurted out of his cock, smearing between their bellies and coating his hand, a deep guttural growl leaving his mouth as the orgasm washed over him.

Panting, Greg flopped down onto Mycroft’s chest and listened to the two of them breathing harshly. Eventually their breaths slowed down and the sticky mess between them was becoming uncomfortably noticeable, but Greg honestly couldn’t be arsed getting up to go and get a flannel. Judging by the deep breathing that was now coming from Mycroft, he was almost asleep so Greg kicked his pyjama pants off all the way and reached down to grab them, using that to clean the spunk off of both himself and Mycroft before dropping them to the floor.

With some tricky manoeuvring he managed to get the thick duvet out from under them and tucked it around the two of them and then, after reaching out to turn off the lamp, Greg snuggled into Mycroft’s side and rested his head on the bony shoulder, throwing an arm over his chest and a leg over his thigh. The deep even breaths told Greg that Mycroft was already in a deep sleep

“Must’ve been really stressful” he muttered as he placed a kiss on the shoulder under his head and closed his eyes, drifting off into a deep sleep of his own.

~o~

As a general rule Mycroft Holmes was never a man to put off an unpleasant task nor did he consider himself a coward. Today, both of those statements could be considered false.

As he lay in his bed, the dull grey morning light just starting to tinge yellow, he held his sleeping Gregory close to him. Last night he had voluntarily allowed himself to become distracted by the mouth of the man in his arms to put off confirming a very important truth that he, Mycroft, had purposely concealed for twenty months from said man. And now he was putting waking that very same man up because he didn’t want to carry out the unpleasant task of telling the man that he loved that all of the heartache and humiliation he had suffered twenty months ago had, essentially, been for naught.

Mycroft had sat back and watched as the DI’s name was dragged through the mud, as he was suspended and then demoted from the job that he loved. Mycroft had, unknowingly to Gregory, played a part in getting the DI reinstated back into his former position, but it was too late. His name had been tarred as the man who not only had needed the help of an _amateur_ detective on so many cases, (Gregory chivalrously did not mention the half a dozen or so other detectives on the police force who had also sought out Mycrofts brothers help on cases), but had also been fooled by that same detective who was nothing but a criminal and a fraud. He had then been ridiculed for denying the claims that the media had spread about Sherlocks credibility, believing him every step of the way, despite what it cost his reputation. Now it was Mycrofts job to tell this wonderful man that everything that he had suffered, every pain and hurt that he had felt, had all been for a lie, even if that lie had saved Gregory’s life.

Mycroft was pulled out of his melancholy thoughts by teeth nibbling on his neck, just above his clavicle.

“No one should be thinking that hard first thing in the morning” Gregory rumbled, his voice still husky with sleep.

Mycroft angled his head down so he could look into Gregory’s face and was met with a very sleepy but very happy smile.

Somehow Mycroft managed to smile back down convincingly and lowered his mouth down to Gregorys for a small, chaste kiss.

Apparently, Gregory had other ideas.

Very suddenly Mycroft found himself being pulled over, so he was lying atop of the man who had pushed his tongue between Mycrofts lips and was using it to stroke his own tongue into action. Although it wasn’t rare for the detective to act like this in the morning it also wasn’t a common occurrence and when it did happen Mycroft was always happy to comply as it did make for a rather pleasant start to the day. And then there was the fact that Mycroft wasn’t sure when he would get to do this again once he finally broke the news about Sherlock to Gregory. So for purely selfish, and cowardly reasons Mycroft smiled into the kiss before moving his own lips from Gregory’s lips to his jaw, and then down his neck. It was as Gregory moaned wantonly while Mycroft bit down on a pert pink nipple that the idea formed in his head. The idea that would allow Mycroft to break the news to his partner in a way that wouldn’t seem so harsh.

If Mycroft were to tell Gregory about Sherlock while he was in the process of achieving a spectacular orgasm, the news might be tolerable to bear and Gregory would also be less likely to be angry at Mycroft due to all of blissfully euphoric chemicals that would be coursing through his body. If he timed it just right he could tell Gregory that Sherlock was alive just as Gregory was about to hit his pleasurable peak, before his body started to prepare itself for orgasm, right when those lovely hormones and chemicals took over all of his cognisant abilities. Really it was a win-win situation. Gregory learned that his friend was alive; Mycroft didn’t get yelled at. Gregory received a fantastic orgasm; Mycroft didn’t have to go without sex for the foreseeable future. Win. Win. And in all fairness, Mycroft had tried to tell Gregory last night when he came home, three times no less. It wasn’t his fault that the DI had other plans.

Mycroft blatantly ignored the word ‘ _Coward_ ’ that was being whispered snidely inside his head and instead listened to the smug voice that told him that it would be a very good plan indeed.

So without any further debate Mycroft continued his journey down the firm body underneath him, licking and nipping and sucking beautiful marks into the slightly tanned skin. (Mycroft must take Gregory to Spain more often. The sun did wonders for his complexion.)

Judging by the stuttered breathing and the alarmingly large of amount of semen that had already leaked onto Gregorys stomach Mycroft concluded that this was not going to last long at all. (Gregory must have been have very pleasant dreams indeed before he woke up.)

Without further thought Mycroft grasped the base of Gregorys cock and guided the head into his mouth. A sharp hiss issued from Gregorys mouth, obviously not expecting the sudden attack and his hand came up to rest on Mycrofts shoulder, while the other one clenched the sheet under his fist. “God, Myc, that’s it”.

Mycroft to continue concentrating on the head of Gregory’s flushed cock, revelling in the taste of his lover upon his tongue, alternating between sucking and licking, working his tongue into the meatus. Underneath him Gregory was writhing and sweating and panting out little moans. He was close. It was now time to put the final steps of his plan in action.

“Doctor John Watson has returned from his travels over seas” he murmured as he pulled his mouth off of Gregorys cock and started kissing down the length of him.

“Hmmm” Greg decided that this was what Mycroft had wanted to tell him last night and thought no more about it as he relished the feeling of those marvellous lips nipping down the length of his cock.

“Seems he got himself into an accident whilst in Italy. He was rather badly injured.” Mycroft told him in between small sucks and licks up along his cock. Since John was home Greg decided that he must be fine now and decidedly didn’t want to talk about it, right now, while he was about to have that delicious mouth wrapped around his cock again.

“I promise I will go and visit him after work if you stop talking about him right now. Not really the best dirty talk Myc” Although Greg should be used to it, Mycroft often ran through his days, especially the frustrating parts, while they were in bed. It helped work out the frustration and that often lead to pretty explosive orgasms, but John was his mate, not some faceless foreign dignitary. Not someone he wanted to be thinking about while his balls were being licked, and … _oooh, that was nice_. Greg gave a tiny thrust of his hips, indicating that he was really enjoying what Mycroft was doing with his tongue right now, that very thing that was almost tipping him over the edge....just a bit more and....

“Yes, due to his injuries and the fact that Sebastian Moran is still at large I can imagine that both he and Sherlock will be home then” Mycroft hummed as he nuzzled his nose up against Greg’s sack and everything stopped right then, right there.

“I’m sorry, I could have sworn you just said that he and _Sherlock_?”

Mycroft pulled a testicle into his mouth and gave it a light suck before letting it pop back out of his mouth and strangely, Greg felt nothing. “Yes, Gregory. You heard correctly. They both arrived home yesterday afternoon.”

Mycroft Holmes was in the process of spreading Greg’s legs further to gain access to the tight little hole that Mycroft so loved paying attention to (Greg made the most delicious noises when he did) when Gregory Lestrade scooted up the bed and sat up, dragging his arse away from where Mycroft was about to use his tongue on it to wring from the man a rather intense, and extremely pleasurable orgasm.

With a frown of confusion at why his plan hadn’t worked (Gregory had been positively writhing under his ministrations) Mycroft looked up to Gregory and then suddenly wished that he hadn’t.

There, sitting against the bed head, in all his naked glory, was Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade and the glower that he was throwing his way made him wish that he had just been sprung smoking by Mummy in the cellar again.

“What do you mean, they _both_ arrived home yesterday afternoon?”

Gregory’s voice was quite low and rather dangerous sounding, and for all the power that Mycroft possessed he had never felt so vulnerable in his life.

“I meant exactly what I said, Gregory. Both Sherlock and John will be at 221 B Baker Street after you have finished work this afternoon, or this evening, depending on what sort of day you have had. They got back home yesterday afternoon. I was going to tell you last night but your mouth around my genitals distracted me somewhat.”

The look that Mycroft was currently subject to implied that that last comment was maybe pushing things a bit too far.

“Would you like to tell me, in step-by-step detail if you don’t mind” Gregory hissed, “Exactly why John is back at Baker Street with a _bloody corpse_.” Mycroft thought, that despite the detectives evident anger, that he had kept his voice rather calm and steady. That was until the last two words which were yelled in pure rage and frustration. Mycroft tried to hide the wince, but was unfortunately unsuccessful.

Pulling himself up into a sitting position, back straight, chin up, Mycroft launched into his revelation with all the poise and confidence he usually carried. At least on the outside. On the inside he felt small and maybe just a bit scared.

“When Sherlock jumped off of the roof of St Barts it was done so John, Mrs Hudson and yourself would be kept alive…”

If Mycroft had thought softening the detective up with that small but important fact would be a success, he was wrong as Gregory cut into his speech.

“I already know all of this Mycroft. Get to the part where Sherlock didn’t actually jump” he growled, and not in an arousing sort of way either. Again, the wince couldn’t be hidden.

“Well, he did actually jump, but it was all planned and obviously he survived the fall” Mycroft continued quickly, some of his outer confidence shrivelling under the stern glare from the detective that practically ordered him to continue.

“Since then he has been travelling the globe bringing down the other members of Moriarty’s network and we were almost finished when John…”

“So, John knew all along as well” Greg scoffed indignantly.

“I wouldn’t say, knew exactly” Mycroft answered tentatively. Another glare from Gregory prompted Mycroft to continue, feeling just that little bit less confident again. (God, this was more terrifying than dealing with an irate Mummy.)

“John was also taking down the web, but he was unaware of Sherlock’s existence. He thought that …..he was working….. indirectly….with….one of my….men”. Mycroft had had to utter that sentence brokenly as the further he got into it the darker Gregorys scowl got. It was beyond terrifying by now.

“What happened to John?” Greg spoke. It was dark and it was hard and if Mycroft were a lesser man he would have passed out in fear by now and although he really did want to get up and leave the room, (and possibly go spend the weekend with Mummy for even when she was angry, she was safe) he was still a strong man, and he had also used all of his cowardly reserves for one day.

“There..” Mycroft stopped and tried to wet his mouth a bit before continuing. “There was an incident in Italy, where Doctor Watson sustained some injuries after falling off of the roof of a rather tall warehouse. He has just spent the last five weeks recuperating in a hospital in Genoa, where, I have been informed, he was making a splendid recovery. Enough that he was allowed to return home yesterday.” Mycroft looked down at the sheet and scratched at a loose thread that wasn’t really there.

“And, when exactly, did he find out that Sherlock wasn’t quite as dead as we all believed?”

"Fi….five weeks ago” Mycroft stuttered quietly, knowing _exactly_ what the next question was going to be.

“And you didn’t think it would be a good idea to let me know then as well, or, maybe fourteen months ago when we started going out, or I don’t know, maybe twenty fucking months ago when it actually happened?”

Mycroft didn’t even bother trying to hide the wince this time.

Gregory inhaled sharply and then abruptly got up from the bed and stalked towards the walk-in wardrobe that housed both of their clothes.

“Gregory, please, you must understand” Mycroft started as he quickly got up and followed Gregory into the wardrobe. “If anyone had found out that Sherlock was alive Doctor Watson would have been killed.”

This revelation seemed to soften some of the smaller mans movements and he managed to continue getting dressed without the threat of ripping his clothes in half.

“Please believe me when I tell you that I wanted to tell you, but I wasn’t prepared to risk Sherlocks cover or John Watson’s life.” Mycroft was relieved when Gregory didn’t brush off the hand he had placed on his shoulder, but he still refused to look at him as he continued to get dressed, still a bit more aggressively than normal. Nor did he look at him as he pulled a tie from the tie rack, (Mycroft held in the satisfied hum at noticing it was one of _his_ ties), and walked back into the bedroom where he laid the tie over his shoulders. Sitting on the chair that the clothes they had both worn the previous day were draped on, Gregory reached under, pulling out his shoes and stuffed his feet into them. He then stood up and tried to tie his tie, but his hands were shaking and he kept messing it up.

“Here” Mycroft said gently, stepping up to the slowly calming man in front of him. “Allow me” and silently and swiftly he had tied Gregorys (Mycrofts) tie into a perfect Windsor knot, looking into his eyes the whole time. What he saw there brought a bit of relief to Mycroft. There was anger in those eyes for sure, but there was also an acceptance of why Mycroft had done what he had done.

“You need to be home at a decent hour tonight” Greg mumbled, tucking his shirt in. Mycroft just shot him a querying look.

“We need to have a talk about what is and what isn’t acceptable information to keep from you partner” and with that he turned and went to leave the room, and it occurred to Mycroft that he was leaving the house, before he had had breakfast. Hell, before he had had a cup of coffee. That never happened. Even when he was called in on an emergency he made a coffee. Mycroft had made sure there were plenty of travel mugs on hand so he could drink on the go.

“Where are you going?” he asked, not making a move to follow, judging that it would be unwelcome.

“Apparently I have a friend, who has just recovered from a serious injury, that I need to catch up with” he threw over his shoulder. “And a long over due visit with your brother.” The last part of that sentence brought back some of the anger that had left the DI’s body earlier and Mycroft didn’t envy the visit that Sherlock was about to receive.

Mycroft watched Gregory walk out the room. Once he was alone he couldn’t stop the small grin that stole over his face. The last time they had had an argument it hadn’t even been at a fraction of this severity and the following make-up sex had been mind blowing. Mycroft could only imagine, with rapt pleasure, what it would be like this time round. Oh, yes! He would most definitely be home at a decent hour tonight.


End file.
